Love, Life, and a Glass of Ale
by FireLily
Summary: Erm. Erm. Well, it has Roald of PotS in it. Okay. Retrospect of Ly, a princess with an arranged marriage and a rather strange problem having to do with that... R/R, *please*!!!


Love, Life, and a Glass of Ale

Part One

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Everyone of a less-than-noble rank had always told me princesses were useless, and at the age of twelve, I was inclined to agree. 

My name was Ly, but my full title was Princess Lyiona of Sylver and Tirass, daughter of their majesties the king and queen of the Golden Islands, and my title alone was an example of my pointless life. 

Princesses were expected, people said, to sit all day alone in a cold tower and embroider while they waited for their prince charming to come rescue them. Of course, presented with this stereotype of a royal daughter, it was no wonder I became rebellious.

But rebellion would end somewhat when I was given my first taste of love, life, and ironically, a glass of ale.

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It began with my engagement, and ended with a marriage, or something of the sort. Time does strange things to one's brains, especially when time is afflicted with change. So suffice it to say it began with my engagement, for it undoubtedly did.

I was engaged to the Crown Prince of Scanra to begin with, but my great luck found him instead married to the Princess of a more worthy alliance. Thank Mithros the Golden Islands had never been a good inland station—our crops, plentiful; our value as a country, large; but the islands had nothing the Scanrans wanted, and so the marriage treaty was recalled.

Unfortunately, though, the country of Tortall decided we were an asset to them, and Mother and Father decided it was an asset to us. The marriage treaty was arranged, with the Tortallans hoping that the death of the two Yamani princesses would not bring bad luck to me and cause my life to be taken. I must say, I agree with that.

And so it began, with my betrothal to Prince Roald of Conte. I was hereby shipped off to the capital city of Tortall with a dowry, the words "Good Luck," and a sense of impending doom.

I was nearly fifteen.

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The young man was tall and handsome, with sensitive blue eyes that felt like they were continuously scrutinizing me. Black locks fell into those eyes haphazardly. I regarded him with dubious eyes. I was usually this doubtful: trusting was not normally in my nature. 

I had met him the moment I stepped off the boat ramp, in strange circumstances: I had tripped on a protruding nail and fallen. He caught me.

"Thank you," I said quietly. The rest of the party was behind me. I wished I could escape.

"What's your name?" the boy asked curiously.

"Sorry. I don't reply to people hitting on me," I said quickly. "Goodbye."

I took a few steps forward. The boy grabbed my hand.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, apologetically. "I wasn't trying to hit on you."

"You succeeded pretty well, though."

"Look. My name's Roald. You are…"

I didn't ask if he was the same Roald I was marrying. Princes weren't usually this blunt, or open, and Roald wasn't an entirely rare name.

"I'm Ly."

"Ly," he repeated with a smile. "Nice name."

"You're hitting on me again."

"Not exactly."

"Seems like it."

He changed the subject with the words, "Ever had ale?"

I was startled. "Never," I said automatically. I didn't quite think of the consequences.

"Ever wanted to?" His smile was strange; it held something I didn't know how to name.

"Never thought of it."

"D'you want to?"

"I really could care less."

"Then come on."

Roald pulled me into the crowd before I could answer or protest. 

"What are you doing?" I cried. He grinned strangely.

"Taking you to get a glass of ale."

"I don't even know how _old _you are!"

"Seventeen as of yesterday."

The words were out before I could control them: "Happy belated birthday."

"Thank you. When is your birthday?"

"I'll be sixteen in three weeks." It was only fair to give him the information he had given me. Besides, I somehow trusted this odd boy.

"Happy early birthday."

"Thank you. What's your full name? And fief?"

"How do you know I'm a noble?" His tone was suspicious.

"You're not a commoner. If you are, you certainly are a strange one. Your accent is different, you walk differently, and you act differently."

"Obviously you spend a good deal of time with commoners."

"No less than you," I replied swiftly. 

"Observant."

"Rather."

I was growing comfortable around him, which was strange for as closed a girl as I was. My space was being harshly invaded in my view, yet for the first time, I didn't protest. Normally I would edge away from the person until I succeeded in showing them I was cold and indifferent… yet now, I was opening to him. It was different for me, trusting someone as much as I trusted Roald and not even knowing them for a full five minutes.

"Down here."

He dragged me down a side street and into a tavern. As we stepped through the door, I caught sight of a sign that read, in plain bold letters, **The Dancing Dove. ******

****The people inside seemed to know Roald, or at least they greeted him heartily. 

"Two ales," he told the bartender, then motioned for me to sit on a seat next to him.

I was uncomfortably aware that my dress, though simple, was made of violet silk and I stood out amazingly well, what with my gold necklace and emerald eardrops. I bit my lip as Roald slid a tankard of ale my way.

"Your clothes, hm?" he asked. I looked at him, surprise evident in my ice-green eyes.

"How'd you know?"

"Face it, you had to notice sometime or other."

"I hate this dress," I muttered, annoyed. "It gets in the way of stuff."

"Doesn't matter," Roald said reassuringly. "Drink your ale. First time, best time."

I looked at him through narrowed eyes. "How long have you been drinking."

"A few years."

"That's not exactly good."

"Better than nothing."

I chose not to answer that and instead tipped the tankard to my lips. The bitter, cold taste flowed down my throat. I choked.

"It's strange," I managed to spit out.

"But good?"

"Not exactly."

A laugh. "You'll get used to it."

I stared at him. "You think I'm going to drink this again?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well, in that case…"

I raised it to my mouth, and the strange taste touched my tongue again.

_How strange. I feel more myself than I have in a year._

_ _

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I have a suspicion that that stunk. Sorry if you couldn't read the font. Don't bug me about it. I was just messing around.

Well, I have a history test tomorrow, so I really should study. Bye!

~FireLily


End file.
